No Gods, No Masters
by markus sana
Summary: A young, broken man needs time to rebuild his shattered spirit and mind - but when the Old World turns out to be far less dead than he thought, Courier Six must put aside his own well-being to venture into the Old World. A world that has just as many problems as his own, though far more insidious in nature.
1. I - It's All Over But The Crying

Chapter I - It's All Over But The Crying

 _And we're back. This is Mr. New Vegas here, and it's about time to get you some news._

He preferred pistols over all other types of weaponry. They were small enough to smuggle into the casinos on the Strip, as well as that one time he had had to go to Caesar's main camp in order to upgrade the Securitrons for Yes Man. Not only that, but they were fast as well - they didn't quite have the rate of fire of his Assault Carbine or any of his sub-machine guns, but they were far more accurate. But even among his Li'l Devil, Maria, and A Light Shining in the Darkness, there was a certain type of pistol that held his heart above all else. The revolver, as far as Courier Six was concerned, was the perfect weapon. Five or six shots, each one packing enough power to blow a Gecko's head clean off it's neck, and send a good sized section of a raider's brain a few yards into the wastes. He had collected several over his journey - Old Scratch, his .357, Sweet Revenge, his .44, and his pride and joy, the Ranger Sequoia, using 45-70 Gov't rounds. He had taken the thing off Chief Hanlon's body in a fit of rage over the discovered treachery of the Ranger, figuring that he didn't deserve the distinguished weapon after nearly getting his men killed. He had almost begun to regret it, too, until a group of Legionnaires had ambushed him and Cass, and a few well aimed shots with the revolver had sent the bastards sprawling, dying, into the sands. The thing had only left his hip once since - when Elijah had kidnapped him.

 _Pre-War singer and ghoul Dean Domino begins his show at the Tops tonight, and will be performing alongside the Lonesome Drifter and Bruce Isaac. That combination is looking to be a deadly one for the women of New Vegas._

Six was still faintly confused about his feelings towards Dean. On one hand, he and the ghoul had gotten along quite well at the Sierra Madre despite their… less than favorable introduction. They had worked together efficiently to save both of their asses while in the Villa and the Casino itself, and while a slip on Dean's part would have cost Six his life had the Courier not caught the error in time _(his left my ass)_ , in the end, they had both survived what that fuck Elijah had put them through. On the other hand though, he had been blackmailing Vera over a life-threatening illness and had spent a good amount of time pre-War and the 200 years since then pursuing the shadow of Sinclair. However, in the end, Six just couldn't bring himself to hate the suave singer. He had loved Vera in his own way, and had seemed genuinely sad over the fates of Vera and Sinclair. Casting his mind back to the Sierra Madre, he thought of Christine and the consciousness that had once been Dog and God. Hoping that no harm had coming to either seemed like a largely hopeless exercise to him, but he did it nonetheless. Christine could take care of herself, even guarding that fucking casino and it's treasure. Well. It's treasure minus the 5 gold bars he had managed to steal before trapping Elijah in the detonating vault. Those still financed his wanderings, even now. He had more ammo than he knew what to do with. After all, there were a finite amount of Fiends and Legionnaires in the world.

 _NCR troops begin to withdraw from the Mojave today, after weeks of negotiations between the NCR and the Board of the IMC. Only Ranger Stations Alpha, Bravo, Echo, and Golf are staying active, to watch for any attacks from the remnants of the Legion._

The IMC. The Independent Mojave Coalition, the greatest thing the Courier had ever achieved - and considering he had talked a schizophrenic Nightkin into reconciling the two halves of his personality into an entirely new consciousness, that was impressive. Hell, he felt like talking to the mentally unstable mutant while in a room slowly filling with flammable gas, trying to convince him that, _no, it was not a good idea to blow everyone up,_ was easier than trying to get the disparate factions of the Mojave to stop fighting over resources and start banding together to repel the Legion, and tell the NCR politely but firmly, that no, they did not need their help and if they could pull the troops out of Freeside, it would be very much appreciated before some Securitron thought the troops were intruders and opened fire. Of course, the Mk II Securitrons did help a great deal with the negotiations - having an entire army of robots, each capable of taking on a few NCR troops each, immune to the demoralizing effects of seeing their companions torn apart by sub-machine gun fire, and loyal to your every command was one of the pluses of getting involved in this mess.

 _Speaking of the remnants of the Legion, the Mojave is still on edge after the nuclear strike that devastated the army. It appears that no one knows who or what caused this attack - and why._

No one except the Courier and Ulysses, there in the twisted canyons under a cracked sky. Six absentmindedly touched the duster he wore as he walked, the coat with the flag of the Old World on his back that had once belonged to the other courier. Ulysses had given it to him, alongside his mask, and had strode off into the east, in search of someplace to call his own, someplace he could recreate what the Divide had once been, before Six himself had brought it's destruction. _It wasn't your fault,_ he told himself, and almost believed it.

 _Here in New Vegas, we know the pain that numbers can bring. Well, so does Guy Mitchell, who has Heartaches by the Number._

The song started playing in his ears, giving the Courier a soundtrack as he walked through the narrow canyons of the Divide. There were no companions by his side, as there had often been. Cass was probably in New Vegas, trying to get Cassidy Caravans started up again. Boone had begun working as a temporary caravan guard and guide around Novac, trying to get his life back in shape. Gannon and Veronica were in Freeside, still working to bring safety to the people of the city. Lily was in Jacobstown, staying with Dr. Henry and Marcus, trying to cure the schizophrenia of the Nightkin. Raul was in Freeside, acting as the vaquero and defender of the innocent that he was always mean to be (though the old ghoul must have been pushing 235 by now). All had offered to come with him. He had turned them all down. He needed the time alone, time he had not had since returning from the Divide for the first time. Capitalizing on the nuclear strike he had launched against the Legion took top priority, and for a few blissful weeks, there was no room for anything in his mind but the Legion, the NCR, and trying to unite the factions of the Mojave, and create the IMC. But now, the IMC had almost finished it's growing pains, the Board was running things well - and Courier Six could no longer sleep at night.

He had stopped by the Mormon Fort to get some sleeping medicine from Gannon, when the older man had pulled him aside on the way out.

"Six."

The doctor's voice cut through the air, and the young courier had turned automatically to face him, a question on his face.  
Gannon sighed.

"No, it's not a job. Look, Six - that's the third time we've upped the dosage of sleeping pills in the past two weeks. You cannot keep drugging yourself to sleep like this, and expect to come out fine."

"I have for the past six months," the Courier murmured.

"No," the doctor rebutted, "for the past six months you've been too damn tired to stay awake. Now, the hard part is pretty much over with, and you cannot work yourself to sleep anymore. Drugging yourself until you can't stay awake is not a solution," he warned, forestalling the sentence about to come out of the young man's mouth.

Gannon hesitated, looking at Six. He couldn't be older than 18, the doctor suddenly realized, feeling very old himself. But his eyes - by God, Gannon had seen men in their sixties who had more innocence than the Courier. Rubbing his face, Gannon looked at Six, who was waiting silently and patiently for the former Enclave member to finish.

"Look," began the doctor again, "I'm no expert in psychology, but it's beyond clear that something is eating at you. I make no claims to know what it is, or why it's affecting you this way. However, if you don't do something about it…"

Gannon trailed off, which was good because he honestly had no idea what to say. That Six would regret it? There were a good many things Six regretted already - and those were just what he knew about, the doctor hadn't accompanied him for all of his travels, and he heard rumors like everyone else. Six wasn't wearing what he considered his work uniform right now, opting for the duster with the stars of the Old World on his back, but Gannon could just as easily see the tall and thin young man in the jet black overcoat and body armor of the Elite Ranger that he had worn during the Second Battle of Hoover Dam - and just as easily imagine the rumors being true, a single man in black armor and a black coat entering a Fiend camp and gunning down every one, taking wounds before slamming a Stimpak and some Med-X in the general vicinity of his injuries and moving on to the next camp.

Thankfully, Six seemed to have understood what he was trying to say, and nodded.  
"Yeah," came the soft voice of the young man. "Yeah, you're right. Fuck, you're right."

Exhaustion, the likes of which Gannon had never heard, permeated every word of the courier's sentence. Nodding, Six looked back at his companion, and answered decisively. "Tell everyone that I'm taking off for a while. I'll be… a couple of weeks at the latest. Gotta go somewhere."

Gannon's brows crinkled in worry, before he made to take a small step forward. Six raised his hand, forestalling the action of the doctor. "Don't worry, alright? I'll be fine on my own."  
"I know, but it would still make me - all of us, I think - feel better if one or two of us went with you."

A spike of anger and annoyance shot through Six _(damn Psycho, he had to pay a visit to Usanagi before he left)_ even though he knew Gannon meant well. "I don't need your help," he snapped, before sighing and muttering a brief apology. "I'm sorry, Gannon. This… is something I need to do on my own."

And so here he was, a week later, on his own, walking through the Divide to Guy Mitchell agonizing over how he can't stop loving the girl who's breaking his heart, trying to reconcile what he remembers from before that fuck Benny pumped two bullets into his skull outside Goodsprings with the man who launched a nuclear strike on the Legion to give him the best advantage possible, without even thinking about the slaves and prisoners in Legion territory _(bowed, hunched women under the watchful [and leering] gazes of Legionnaires as his right hand desperately aches to pull out Lucky and pump lead through their fucking skulls),_ condemning all of them to death.

 _"Someday, you're gonna wish you had some bad in you… cause good is gonna let you down."_

"Fuck you, Marko."

The whispered words fell empty from his lips into the winds of the DIvide. He had said them so many times they seemed meaningless.

He had been staying in Ulysses' Temple for a week. Six had figured that if there was any better place to try to deal with his psychological problems than the place where he had single-handedly racked up the largest kill count by a single human since the Great War, he didn't fucking know about it. Though now that he was actually thinking about it, he could have gone to see Joshua in Zion. The Courier had the distinct impression that the former Malphis Legate wouldn't give him the answers he was looking for, however. Joshua would just give him a speech about he had done what was necessary to protect his people, and how no one could ever judge him for it, not even if there was a God in Heaven. Daniel wouldn't be much help either, just shake his head and ask him again to pray for forgiveness. Six tended to come down with Joshua - if there was a God (and that was a pretty fucking big if, he thought bitterly, looking at the ruins of the Divide), that fuck had no right to judge him, especially after some of the shit he had pulled.

"This Jesus guy seemed to know what he was talking about, though," muttered the Courier, weighing the Scripture Joshua had given him before he left Zion in his hand. "Too bad the Wasteland ain't exactly a live and let live type of shithole." He had questioned why the New Canaanite had given him what had seemed to be a great gift by the standards of his people, and was surprised when Joshua had laughed. "I don't have any need for it anymore," the man had said. "I've learned all I can from it, and found the Scripture lacking. However, my answers and yours are not the same. I give this to you in hopes that you can find your answers in it."

He hadn't. Not yet, anyways. Jesus hadn't said anything about the morality of performing a preemptive nuclear strike on an advancing army that sought to turn you and everyone you knew into slaves or crucifixions. It probably would have been a bit easier to deal with the crippling emotional trauma that was caused by such a mass killing otherwise.

However, that emotional trauma would have to wait.

Because that thing was was coming down from the sky was not a fucking vertibird. With narrowed eyes, Six slipped on Ulysses' mask, materialized his Ranger Sequoia from the Pimp-Boy _(Mick and his sense of humor)_ on his left forearm, and activated a Stealth Boy, becoming a mirage sliding into the wastes.

* * *

"Dust," whispered the young man. That was really the only proper reaction for the twisted, annihilated landscape before them. His teammates, Redding and Tala, were silent, but nodded grimly in agreement with him. Wrecked buildings and debris spilled into the cracked and ruined earth, and destroyed cars buried in the ground stood as rusted tombstones to a people killed by a world that had no idea what it was doing. His partner was frozen alongside him, her eyes staring blankly into the destroyed city. He reached over, and nudged her. "Venus, you alright?"

The team leader jumped in a start, looking panicked at him. Davis frowned, tapping her forehead. "Remnant to Venus. You ok? You started just staring…"

The slight, purple haired girl smiled _(a little faintly, Davis fretted internally)_ , and shook her head. "I'm fine, Davis. Just… a bit overwhelmed by it all. It's one thing to read about it in the history textbooks or to hear about it in Oobleck's class. But to see it like this…"

The entire team of VRDT looked into the wastes.

"It's suddenly real."

Redding spoke up, a rarity, and his teammates found themselves nodding along, as they often did whenever the bear faunus offered some of his insightful wisdom _(which was stupid, 'cause they were all twenty, which is nowhere near old enough to have wisdom)._ But Redding was right - up until now, the bombing of America was almost mythological, something that had never happened. But now, they saw the buildings, the cars, the wastelands, and knew that a little over 200 years ago, a kingdom had been completely annihilated, down to the last, with weapons that had been immediately destroyed, in horror over what they had done. Atomic research had been banned, and Dust technology filled the void.

The soon to be fourth-year team stepped out of the bullhead, into the dust of the remnants of the fifth kingdom of America, and with no pomp or ceremony, were the first to set foot in the destroyed kingdom since the Great War 200 years ago.

"It's a good thing all the radiation has faded away by now, otherwise, we'd have to wear huge, bulky suits, and who knows how that would affect us," commented Tala, shuddering a bit. Not from vanity, however, from practicality - they would be severely hampered in terms of mobility if they had to wear such massive radiation proof suits. Nodding in agreement, the group took a standard formation before advancing - Redding in the front, massive battle-axe drawn and ready, Tala in the back, ready with her sniper rifle, the massive blade coming from the barrel like a bayonet speaking to her skill with close combat as well as her aim with the gun. Davis and Venus were on the flanks, his sub-machine gun ready to become a mace at any moment, while his partner readied a semi-automatic rifle to target mid ranged enemies, the gun transforming from a longsword by her side.

They advanced steadily down the pathway formed by the ruined and toppled buildings, scanning the sides of the fissure in the earth, although they were not sure what they were checking for. Human and faunus alike had both been killed off nearly two centuries ago now, and the landscape seemed quite inhospitable for other animals. The Grimm had more than likely been wiped out in the atomic hellfire, and without the negative thoughts of humans enticing them, would not spawn in the wastes. At least, that's what Port theorized, proving even the windbag professor could come up with a thought in his head from time to time. Tala checked her scroll as they advanced, watching as the blip that represented their position came ever closer to the blip that represented the spot from which a nuclear warhead had been launched for the first time in over 200 years. That was the mission of the Beacon team VRDT - to determine the cause of the launch, and, if any nuclear warheads remained, destroy them to erase all trace of atomic weapons from the world. The annihilation of America could never happen again.

Venus uttered a short yelp, and VRDT reacted with perfect harmony, Tala tucking and rolling to the back, raising her sniper to her shoulder, as Davis and Redding pivoted on their heels to face the way Venus was. They examined what had caused Venus to react with such alarm, and all had to turn away for a moment at the sight in front of them, Davis' face vaguely turning green at the spectacle. It was a small, humanoid figure - but that was where the resemblance to humanity ended. The skin of the creature was green and scaly, and it's white eyes were disproportionately large for it's face. It resembled nothing so much as the stereotypical depiction of aliens - and it was dead, having been slashed to death by some other creature, large rents in it's flesh leaking trickles of blood, the rest having dried long ago.

"What the hell?" swore Redding, hefting his axe. "What is this?"

Davis, though green, looked to the side at Venus. "Hey, you alright? It looks dead, but…"

Venus shook her head, making a visible effort to stand up straight and not cower any longer. "No, it's dead. And I'm fine, it's just that…"

The four stood around the corpse of the creature, examining the tiny frame, which would most likely give the thing incredible speed. It's arms were tipped with sharp claws, and it's mouth was filled with ivory teeth, pointed and fierce.

"That thing can't be natural," muttered Redding.

"You're probably actually right," answered Tala, bending down to get a closer look at the thing. "One major side effect of the atomic bombs was radiation, which was known for causing mutations in cells. With enough exposure to radiation over enough time… Something like this thing could be produced." The statement was punctuated with a kick from a combat boot into the dead creature, which caused her teammates to flinch slightly, as if expecting the thing to jump at them.

"My god," Venus whispered, the soft statement catching the attention of her team. "Do you think - that's what happened to the Americans?"

A new, horrified silence fell over VRDT as they pondered what Venus had brought up.

"Venus," said Davis, motioning to reassure her, "I'm sure that's not what happened…"

"Yeah," added Tala, with a slightly shaky voice. "I'm sure too. I think I just found them."

VRDT turned to Tala, questions in their eyes, before their gaze followed the barrel of Tala's rifle, and they immediately readied their weapons. Emerging from various broken windows and toppled buildings were humans. However, they resembled a figure one would see in an anatomy textbook more than an actual person, as all their skin had been stripped off. The exposed muscle pulsed and flexed as they advanced, causing Venus to gulp, her breathing accelerating as she tried to suppress her gag reflex at the frankly horrifying sight before them. Some had guns, wielding all sorts of weaponry, while others opted to just carry melee weapons, chainsaws, knives, and even slabs of metal sharpened into large swords. Many were armored in what looked to be street signs folded into protective armor, while others were dressed in combat fatigues, and the last had clothing that resembled the armor of ancient civilizations. A growl echoed from the horde surrounding the Beacon students, as the team turned in place, desperately seeking a way out.

The closest skinless man, who was armored with a street sign that declared "STOP" in white letters on red _(funny what you noticed when your life was in danger, thought Redding in an almost detached manner)_ lifted his pistol towards the bear faunus - and a gunshot rang out through the fissure.

The horde froze, then quickly retreated, scurrying back into the holes from which they came. Redding looked down at himself, quickly assessing his current health, and came to the reasonable conclusion that he had not, in fact, been shot.

"Turn," Tala ordered, and Redding did so, knowing that trying to defy the sniper-medic was a terrible idea. Once the young woman had confirmed to her satisfaction that her partner had not, in fact, been shot, the team looked back outward again.

"W-why did they run?" Venus asked rhetorically.

"Because they know better."

The voice, soft but firm, caused the four of them to have such a start not so much because the rhetorical question posed by their team leader was answered, but because none of them had answered it. Following the source of the voice, they craned upward to see a figure some hundred feet above them, silhouetted by the sun against the cliffs.

"Bear or Bull?" called the figure.

VRDT paused, looking at each other, and mutually decided to shelve the question of who the hell this man was living in the middle of the fissure in the earth, and how he had survived in a nuclear hellfire scorched wasteland. Turning back to each other, Davis turned to Redding in particular.

"Bear or bull? Is he talking about you?"

Before Redding could answer, the voice cut in once more.

"It doesn't take four of you to answer. You. The one with the impractically large gun and ridiculous bayonet attached to it."

Tala positively bristled at the stranger's casual insults to her Rose Thorn, but didn't get a chance to unload her full rant of scorn onto the wastelander _(Redding had counted once, it reached almost three minutes of pure rage of a weapon nut)_ , as he continued on.

"Bear or Bull?"

Giving a helpless glance to her team, who gave equally helpless glances back, the sniper-medic turned to the figure on the cliff, and took a deep breath.

"Neither."

The proud statement actually twisted more into a question near the end, but Tala could be excused for that. The voice was silent for a few moments, before the figure pointed behind them.

"Climb that hill, over the pipes. Once you reach the top, face me, then head right over the collapsed building. When you reach the end, follow the platforms to me."

With that, the silhouette made to move back into the shadows of the cliff.  
"Wait!" Venus impulsively shouted. "What would have happened if we answered wrong?"

The figure paused.  
"Look to your right."

VRDT obeyed, and froze in their tracks again. A white cone with a rounded, blunt tip sat against the wall of the fissure, with what was unmistakably several packs of C-4 pressed firmly against it.

"Is that…" Davis trailed off, but all of the students knew what he meant.

Venus gulped.

"Please, everyone, be careful around the nuclear warhead."

* * *

A/N: Don't get too attached to VRDT, they're just a plot device to get Six to Vale, cause it makes no goddamn sense to ask a first year team to go to a nuclear wasteland. I've read a lot of fics with the Transportalponder sending Courier Six to Remnant, but I don't think I've ever seen a fic with this premise. So, am I breaking new ground? Maybe.

So, if it wasn't clear - America was a fifth kingdom. In the Great War, which has been moved to 200 years before RWBY starts, Atlas launched a nuclear strike on America, which completely annihilated it. Horrified, all four kingdoms outlawed nuclear power and weapons, and focused on Dust instead. They did not know about Vault-Tec and the Vaults, and think that all Americans are dead.

Another note - as far as this fan fiction is concerned, the following set of mods are canon, given how fantastic they are.

New Vegas Bounties I, II, III  
The Inheritance  
King of the Ring  
Blood by the Dollar

* * *

THOUGHTS ON RWBY

RWBY is weird. It's one of those things that I like reading fanfiction of more than I like watching the actual show. Though mostly that might because in the show, we don't get to see the internal thought processes of the characters, so if they act out of what their personality has been established to be, we may not get a justification for a while. In fanfiction, a lot of that is cleared up. Also Monty - may he rest in peace - was fantastic at character design and world building, but was god-awful at character development and internal consistency. All I want is some explanation that's not ripped from Dragonball, man! I'm not asking for some Patrick Rothfuss, Brandon Sanderson, or Nasu Kinoko level of magic system here - just a Jim Butcher level at the very least, instead of the Rule of Cool. All that being said, I don't think I ever watched past season 1, so I will be relying on shit I've learned from fanfiction, the wiki, and TvTropes after the dance.

In any case, if I continue this side thing, I'll see you again. If not, ah well, here's the start of what could be. Go ahead and leave questions, comments, concerns, critiques and testimony if you so wish.


	2. II - Mysterious Stranger

Chapter II - Mysterious Stranger

He was waiting at the top of the cliff, in front of a metal door implanted under an overhang. The man wore a long gray duster, which had a marking on its back - a blue circle, in which was a circle of white stars, surrounding another star - the flag of America. He turned to face VRDT, and removed the respirator mask that covered the bottom half of his face.

The first thing that struck them was how young the man was. He couldn't have been older than 18, making him a first or second year student in their eyes. Short, silver hair was mussed in various swirls and ridges on his head, and brilliant pale blue eyes met theirs. However, the main thing that caught their attention was the scar. It was almost like a spiderweb, radiating out from his right temple down his cheek and through his forehead and face, like the flesh had been shattered and put back together. He gestured with an hand _(incredibly heavily scarred, Tala noted with detached medical proficiency that didn't prevent her from being horrified at what he had to have endured to receive such marks)_ , and spoke.

"Go ahead and sit."

The four members of the team followed his suggestion, taking a seat on planks of wood placed on top of cinder blocks and covered with cloth to create rough benches. The young man before them followed suit, taking a seat on what appeared to be a dilapidated lawn chair, before casually placing his right ankle on his left knee, and slinging his arms on the arms of the chair. They sat in silence for several moments, VRDT stunned at the discovery of an actual, live human being, while the survivor sat silent and implacable in front of them.

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

The voice of the young man in front of them broke the Huntsmen and Huntresses out of their contemplation, and caused them to all start guiltily. Looking nervously at each other, Venus took the lead in the discussion, leaning forward.

"Um… If you don't mind me asking, who are you?"

The young man paused for a few moments before replying.

"I am Odysseus. Now, a question for a question is only fair. Who are you all?"

The name of the silver-haired man only produced more questions than answers. The reference to mythology was not lost on the team, and led Venus to believe that Odysseus was probably not his actual name, but an assumed one. Electing to place that to the side, the Huntress-in-training glanced around at her teammates, and upon receiving cautious nods, turned to Odysseus.

"I'm Venus. These are Tala, Redding, and Davis. We're from Beacon."

Watching carefully for any flash of recognition, VRDT were not surprised when no such expression appeared on Odysseus' face, only a slight expression of bemusement and a cocked head.

"Beacon? I've walked from the west coast to the Dam, and I've never heard of such a town… Are you from east of the Colorado, then?"

"No," answered the team leader, slowly. "We're from Vale."

Silence reigned for what seemed like an eternity. Six quite frankly had no idea what to do now. He had identified himself as Odysseus, the alternate name for Ulysses, so that the four armed individuals - who were almost certainly dangerous, if they had access to such equipment as the flying machine and their admittedly impressive (though a little too elaborate for the Courier's tastes) weaponry - wouldn't identify him as Courier Six, President of the Board of the Independent Mojave Coalition. But now he found himself dealing with representatives of Vale - an Old World kingdom - that is, if they were to be believed.

The first reaction he thought of would be to laugh off the preposterous statement. They were from Vale? Really? And not only that, the way they had said they were Vale… it implied that Vale was entirely intact and functional. Six wasn't from America, he was from the Mojave, having accepted the place as his home and his destiny.

However… Before six months ago, he almost certainly would have laughed off the idea that pre-War scientists had survived as brains in fluid in a crater in the Southwest Commonwealth. Before then, he would have scoffed at the proposal that a casino in the Sierra Madre was filled with mindless humans and a red cloud that ate at one's flesh. So maybe… just maybe… Vale had managed to put itself back together after 200 hundred years. It was certainly not outside the realm of possibility, especially if the assumption was made that Vale got hit less hard than America.

Six reached into the inside pocket of Ulysses' duster and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offering some silently to the group in front of him. Taking their blank stares as refusal, he shrugged, flicking one of the cigarettes out of the pack, before setting it alight with Benny's lighter and slipping the lighter back into the duster. He placed the lit tube between his lips, and inhaled the tobacco gratefully. For something of this magnitude, a smoke was required.

"Now," began the Courier after exhaling, "You claim to be from Vale. Is there any proof you can offer as to this claim?"

Despite Redding looking disapprovingly at the cigarette in his hand, the faunus answered the question.

"Well… We could put you in contact with Ozpin. He's the head of our academy, and has a great deal of authority in Vale. We'd just have to get in contact with him ourselves…"

With that, Redding pulled out what appeared to be a white rectangle, and to the surprise of the Courier separated it into two halves, which appeared to be connected by some sort of translucent screen, much like the screens in the Sink, but compressed down to a much more practical and portable level. The older man began tapping at the thing, pulling up various windows at an impressive speed, before grunting in frustration, and looking back up at the Courier.

"Yeah, my scroll isn't getting a strong enough signal. We'll probably have to use the bullhead in order to boost the power to reach Beacon."

Six nodded in acknowledgement, before frowning briefly, recalling the words of the bear faunus a few moments ago.

"A moment, please. You said this Ozpin fellow was a headmaster of an academy - yours, to be specific. A combat academy, I assume?"  
"Yes, that's correct," replied Venus, letting Redding put his scroll away. "We're in training to become Hunters - do you know what that is?"

"I'm not a moron," Six responded bitingly. "I assume one who hunts the creatures of the wastelands - I assume for some sort of monetary reward. Essentially, freelance mercenaries, but for beasts instead of people."

Halted by the almost offended tone of the wastelander, Venus paused for a moment, obviously feeling slightly awkward from her assumption, causing Six to feel slightly ashamed about his brief snappish words towards the young woman, but admirably soldiered on, continuing the conversation.

"Oh… Are you a Hunter as well?"

"Of a sort," answered Six, rising to his feet. "Now, didn't you say you needed to go back to the… bullhead, was it?"

"Hold on," replied Tala, looking dead at the wastelander. "We can't just let something like that slide, you know." Team VRDT's hands slowly crept towards their weapons as they waited for the silver haired man to respond. Six, initially surprised at the hostility the four guests were showing, frowned briefly before his eyes widened when he realized the word choice that had caused the four to become wary.

"I'm not an assassin!" the young man yelped, before grimacing at the decidedly unprofessional tone in his voice. Taking a deep breath, Six continued in a more even tone of voice. "I do hunt beasts, but I also work as a bounty hunter to take care of criminals across the Mojave. The NCR is thin, and right now, the IMC is even thinner, so they need people like me to help out with the load so they can focus on more pressing issues." He shook his head, and lightly traced the web of scars on the right side of his face with his right hand, before running it up through his hair, before offering them a small, shaky grin. "I may live in a post apocalyptic desert, but I do have morals, you know."

VRDT glanced at each other, but their concerns had been quite obviously assuaged, and Six internally thanked his time in the desert talking aggressors down for helping him defuse the situation _(though actually, it was the outburst which Six cursed as unprofessional that had convinced the others more than anything else)_.

"Fair enough," conceded Tala, letting her hands drop. "It's not like Hunters don't do the same thing, after all. Come on, let's get you in contact with Ozpin."

* * *

The clockwork ticked around Ozpin as he sighed, staring at the unmoving, unchanging feed of Amber's vitals. The headmaster didn't think he had ever felt so helpless as when Qrow brought the young woman back to Beacon half dead and with part of her aura - her very soul itself - missing. Despite all 'his' long years of experience, despite 'his' power, he still couldn't protect one of his most important pieces against the enemy.

The silver haired man gritted his teeth, having immediately caught his internal mistake. He had vowed to himself a long time ago to never think that way again, in terms of chess, like the war he was fighting was some sort of game. That was why he was here, as the headmaster of Beacon, instead of on the front lines of the conflict. He could never allow himself to forget that every Huntsman, every Huntress, every single soul on Remnant was more than just a pawn in a war they knew nothing about. Because when he did, the world became a matter of balancing numbers against numbers, and he refused to send people to their deaths as sacrificial pawns.

He refused to use the greater good as justification anymore.

Ozpin was broken from his reverie by the buzzing of his scroll, a distraction from his failure he gladly welcomed. He was slightly puzzled by the caller identification, which indicated the one requesting a conference was Otis Redding of team VRDT, rather than… well, anyone else, really. According to the timetable for their mission, the fourth year team should have landed in the ruins of America… yes, only a few hours ago. Reaching out to the screen, the headmaster tapped it, accepting the call from the young man.

The inside of the bullhead appeared on the screen, showing the four members of team VRDT. Ozpin's eyes quickly scanned his students, letting out a small breath as he saw all four of them uninjured. While he had confidence in Tala's skills as a medic, a more serious injury, one not treatable through field treatment, could mean death for the recipient, given how far away they were from civilization.

"Redding," acknowledged Ozpin, with a nod. "I'm glad to find you well. When I saw your call, I feared the worst."

The bear faunus scrunched his brows together briefly, faintly confused, but soon understood what Ozpin was trying to get across.

"No, no!" Redding hastened to say, waving his hands. "We're all perfectly fine, headmaster. We… uh… called you for something else."  
Ozpin raised an eyebrow, somewhat intrigued. VRDT was perhaps one of the most capable teams he had seen on the battlefield, exceptional in both practical and theoretical fields of study. For them to defer to him so quickly after arriving in America was surprising.

"Is that so? Well, what is it?"

Redding paused for several long moments, before grimacing and shaking his head.

"There's… really no other way to do this but to do it, is there?"

Ozpin frowned, about to ask what his student meant, before Redding stepped to the side, and Ozpin's breath stopped for a brief moment. Standing there was a fifth person. A young man, no more than eighteen, with silver hair, much like his own, but shorter and even messier, if such a thing were possible. The scars immediately caught the headmaster's attention, a web of them extending from the right temple, to say nothing of the abuse his arms had obviously suffered. However, despite all of that, what commanded Ozpin's attention were his eyes. Eyes were the window to the soul _(literally, as Summer and her daughter proved)_ , and he could tell that the young man on the screen had an old and tired one. Those were not the type of eyes a teenager should possess, and Ozpin suddenly felt 'his' age.

"You are… Headmaster Ozpin, of Beacon, correct?"

Ozpin jerked slightly, before refocusing on the young man's words.

"Yes, that would be correct," he answered. "And who might I be speaking to?"

"Odysseus," replied the silver haired teen. "Right hand man of the President of the IMC, Courier Six."

From the way the members of VRDT jolted, they apparently had not been privy to this information. However, that observation was only half made by Ozpin, who was far more focused on the name of the organization that Odysseus apparently belonged to, the IMC. That name was one he had never heard, not in all 'his' life. So… A strange feeling came over Ozpin then, an odd mix of horror, dread, and resignation, as the headmaster prepared himself for the answer that he knew would come.

"Odysseus," asked Ozpin, after a long pause. "This IMC you speak of… Where would it happen to be located?"

Odysseus met the gaze of the headmaster unflinchingly, and confirmed what Ozpin already knew.

"The IMC is the Independent Mojave Coalition, located in the Mojave Desert of what was once the Southwest Commonwealth of America."

The headmaster closed his eyes, and forced himself to take several deep breaths. When he opened them again, he noticed idly his hands were shaking. It was an unacceptable breach of the implacable expression he was so proud of putting up, but considering the news he had just received, he was reasonably certain that he could be excused this once. With conscious effort, Ozpin forced his extremities to stop their movement, and reached to the side, grasping his mug and taking a long, deep draught of cocoa (now bitterly regretting not letting Qrow talk him into getting some alcohol). As he swallowed, the headmaster let his emotions drain away into his stomach with the hot beverage, the exercise leaving his head mostly clear of any emotion, now allowing him to face the situation before him as clinically as possible.

Now that he was more or less as calm as one could be after learning that a kingdom long assumed completely purged from the face of Remnant by nuclear hellfire had survived in some form or another for nearly 200 years, Ozpin turned his attention back to the other silver haired man, who had been waiting for him patiently.

"I apologize," began Ozpin, "but surely you can see how this information… would be quite shocking for me."

Odysseus offered back a wan smile, touching the scars on his face before running his right hand through his hair. "Completely understandable. Such a revelation was shocking to me as well, that Vale would be in good enough shape to send expeditionary forces out to other kingdoms. Tell me, how bad are the other kingdoms?"

He was not necessarily shocked by the inquiry, but still grimaced, not relishing the thought of the conversation to come. Yet as Redding had so eloquently said, "There was no other way to do it but do it." With that thought firmly in mind, Ozpin took another sip from his mug, and answered. "Only America and Atlas were struck by nuclear missiles, and of the two, America was far worse off. As far as we could tell, the attack covered nearly the entire continent. However, America launched far fewer missiles, and those that did launch, many landed in the Atlesian Sea. Roughly a quarter of Atlas was struck by the attack, and that section still has people living in it, as far as we know. I can only offer you my most sincere apologies for not coming to your country. The only excuse I have is that we had no idea that it was possible to survive such extensive devastation."

Odysseus seemed to almost physically stagger at the information, the only sign of it being his hand shooting out to steady himself on the console of the bullhead. The silver haired young man closed his eyes, and took several deep breaths, performing the motion with his right hand again. Ozpin fully sympathized with the young man's reaction, having experienced it himself mere moments before. With a long exhale, pale blue eyes looked back up at Ozpin, and the wan smile once again crossed his features.

"No… there was no was you could have known. There was a company in the Old World called Vault-Tec. They built Vaults, giant underground bunkers with enough resources to last the inhabitants years. Those who had spots reserved for them in the Vaults managed to get there as the bombs went off."

Odysseus paused, like he was going to continue on, but just stopped instead. Ozpin frowned at the young man's hesitance, intuitively understanding that there was something else he wasn't being told, but wisely decided not to press.

"Eventually," Odysseus resumed rather suddenly, "Some Vaults opened up again, and the survivors spread out. Civilization is more or less restored on the western coast, I've never been to the east, so I couldn't say how things are there."

Ozpin nodded in acknowledgment.

"Thank you for this information. It will be great news that there are survivors of America."

"A moment, please," Odysseus interrupted. "Might I ask how you are planning to proceed? From the way your students spoke of you, it's quite clear that you hold a great deal of influence within your kingdom."

"I do," replied Ozpin. "As for how I plan to go forward with this information, I will report it to the Council of Vale - the kingdom's leadership," he quickly clarified for the wastelander, who nodded in comprehension, "and we will decide together. Of course, I will advocate for the immediate revelation of this discovery to the populace, and I suspect they will advocate for the exact opposite. Out of curiosity, Odysseus, what would you do?"

The young, silver haired man shrugged.

"I have no idea. I do not know Vale, just as you do not know the Mojave. For my part, I will be keeping this a secret, for now. The potential for panic and demand for a mass migration to the surviving world is immense."

Ozpin frowned faintly. He disliked deception, though he was not so much of a fool as to disregard its necessity. This was most certainly one of those cases. While the words of Odysseus were true in that the headmaster had no way of comprehending the Mojave, he could most certainly imagine what it must be like for someone who had believed their world ended over 200 years ago to have it suddenly revealed to them that it was alive and well. They would demand to leave the wasteland of America and head to greener pastures.

"You are right," the headmaster conceded, looking back at the young man through the screen. "I do not know your home, but I can imagine what such panic would be like. However, for my part, I must talk to the Council. Might I trouble you to stay connected? I would like for you to speak to them yourself."  
A smile crossed Odysseus' face, and he leaned forward.

"There would be nothing I would like more."

* * *

Five days later, Six walked in through the doors of the Lucky 38, making a beeline to the elevators, ignoring the Securitrons that Yes Man had set to refurbishing the casino. The AI wanted to reopen the casino, figuring that the initial boost of novelty would be well worth the cost of reopening. The courier had seen the models Yes Man had pulled up, and while he could only understand about three-quarters of the math, even with his admittedly prodigious intellect under the influence of Mentats, he understood enough to know that Yes Man was right, as usual.

Putting in the code to take him up to the Presidential Suite, Six leaned casually against the side of the elevator, the saxes of Kay Kyser's band blasting as the singer started in again on his nice trip with those janglin' spurs, the courier unable to stop himself from softly singing along with the song.

He jauntily strode out of the elevator, and directly into his room, proceeding to dump all the weapons and armor from his Pimp-Boy onto the floor, and taking a seat on the trunk at the foot of his bed as the courier contemplated what to bring along. As far as armor went, he would probably be fine with only bringing Ulysses' coat and mask, as well as his Elite Ranger Armor. After all, Courier Six might need to make an appearance over in Vale. As a thought occurred to the wastelander, he dashed over to the closet, and pulled out one of Benny's suits he had… appropriated after blowing the weasel faunus' brains out. After all, one never knew when he might need fancy dress.

As far as weapons went? For his pistols, the Ranger Sequoia, Old Scratch, and Sweet Revenge were all digitized, alongside Lil' Devil, A Light Shining in Darkness, and Maria. For mid-ranged firepower, he took Fearg, My Little Friend, Steel Shredder, The Ferguson Rifle and the fully modified Support Rifle. For long-ranged engagements, he took the Gobi Campaign Scout Rifle and The Penetrator. Heavy weaponry was included as well - the mini-gun CZ57 Avenger, a flamethrower, and Thump-Thump tended to work well enough for crowd control. The courier grabbed three shotguns - the Lupara, his Sturdy Caravan Shotgun, and the Riot Shotgun. Six loaded up on energy weapons, too - Elijah's Advanced LAER, fully modified, a Gauss Rifle, a Laser RCW, a Multiplas Rifle, a Tri-beam Laser Rifle, as well as the Tesla-Beaton Prototype, the massive shoulder mounted energy cannon. Finally, he moved on to melee weapons, taking The Emasculator, the bowie knife he had taken on one of his jobs for the NCR, Prècieuse, the katana of that one Syndicate douche, and Old Glory. If he was going to be modeling himself after Ulysses, he might as well go all the way! After a bit of thought, he threw in the Big Mountain Transportalsponder and nodded his head. That was quite the variety of weaponry, not even mentioning his grenades and mines. It just might be enough to get him through whatever he had gotten himself into.

Running a quick inventory check, Six was satisfied that his prodigious store of drugs was all there, as well as his quite frankly obscene stockpile of ammo. It was quite easy to convince Dr. 0 that helping him hack the Pip-Boy would be far more offensive to Mr. House than merely destroying it, and the Think Tank had succeeded spectacularly, managing to make the technological device simply not recognize the existence of anything under half a pound in weight, allowing the courier access as much ammo, drugs and food as he could conceivably scavenge and create. It was an achievement that Six took full advantage of, taking his newly enlarged stock of ammo and using it to run rampant through the Fiends and the Legion, making it a great deal safer for the New Vegas Militia. Speaking of which…

Six leaned out of his door.

"Hey, _¡cabrón!_ " Six cried. "Get over here. I need you. You too, Cass," he called as an afterthought as he withdrew, plopping down at the desk in his room, running his hands idly over the collection of weapons that covered it. He had won each and every one through blood and skill, and they marked him for something that was very easy to forget - Courier Six was an army unto himself, and the last man who had thought to cross him was Caesar, riled after his defeat at Hoover Dam. After that day at Cottonwood Cove, the Bull had learned to fear the Spade even more than they feared the Bear.

" _¿Qué paso, jefe?_ " drawled Raul Tejada as he entered Six's room, casually plopping down on the couch opposite the desk, by which stood a suit of T-45d power armor that McNamara had given the courier after helping the Elder out.

"Yeah, what he said," added Cass, opting instead to lean against the doorframe, the fox faunus giving him an interested look. "It sounds pretty urgent."

"Kinda," replied Six. "Y'all ready to hear some shit?"

Six was not amused. Raul was greatly amused. Case was trying not to laugh, but the howling of the ghoul made it quite hard for the jovial faunus to maintain a straight face.

"Raul," sighed the courier. "It's really not that funny."

"I beg to disagree!" cried Raul. " _El jefe_ is gonna go to school!"

Six began to tap his right foot impatiently.

"I am not going to school," he growled through gritted teeth. "I am shadowing a team of Hunters-in-training in order to observe one of the pillars of life in the modern Four Kingdoms first hand-"

"At a school!" the vaquero triumphantly retorted, and broke out into a new batch of fresh guffaws.

Six's eyebrow joined his foot in betraying his impatience, the offending part twitching violently as he waited for the head of his militia to get control of himself. The wastelander turned a long-suffering gaze on Cass, only to freeze when he saw the former caravan owner trying to control her laughter as well. Sighing, the only human in the room placed his head in his hands.

"Let me know when you're done so we can continue this very serious conversation about the rest of the world not having been nuked to shit and back."

To the chagrin of the President of the IMC, his friends availed him of that opportunity and proceeded to laugh at his expense for the next few minutes.

"So, _jefe_ , any idea why you are doing that? I mean, wouldn't it make more sense for you to follow around some actual Hunters to get a sense of that profession, not some brats in training?" questioned Raul, looking at the courier.

Six rubbed his face vigorously before running his hands up his scars and through his hair.

"I've got no fuckin' clue," admitted the courier. "That was the one thing Ozpin was adamant on, and the Council agreed. He spun me some bullshit line about getting an understanding of the base schooling that all hunters come from, but I'm pretty damn good at figuring out when someone's lying. He was good at hiding it, but not good enough. What I can't figure out is why he wants me there. You'd think the last place you'd want an unknown element like me is in the middle of a bunch of schoolkids…"

As his voice trailed off, Six's eyebrows shot up as he considered something.

"Oh… that does make sense, actually. Because those kids are being taught how to be Hunters, that means that Hunter must be teaching them, but furthermore, they must have a good deal of combat prowess. I mean, if you wanna keep a prisoner, do you keep him at the front lines or in the main base?"

"You think they're gonna take you hostage?" Case butted in, a look of concern and outrage growing on her face, though Six immediately waved a hand to forestall that assertion. "Nah, no way. That would be a very poor way to introduce themselves to a foreign power they don't know the capabilities of. I don't think the Council is that stupid, and even if they were, Ozpin wouldn't let them be that stupid."

"Do you trust him, _jefe_?" Raul inquired.

A long pause occurred between the three. "Yeah," admitted the Courier. "I trust him. Got no idea why, but despite that lie, I just get the sense that he's a good person, ya know? I'm pretty good about judging people these days."

"Well," commented the ghoul, stretching, "if _el jefe_ trusts this Ozpin guy, that's good enough for me. So, when do you set off, _jefe_?"

A positively evil smile crossed Six's features.

"We leave as soon as you're packed."

The ghoul and faunus froze. "We?"

* * *

A/N: Fuck dialogue. I can write narration for hours, but conversations have never come quite so naturally to me. Ah well, hopefully this will improve in time.

Perceptive readers might have noticed that Cass is a fox faunus and Benny was a weasel faunus. This is due to the series taking place in the RWBY world. Other characters from New Vegas will be faunus as well, specifically Red Lucy and Sunny Smiles at the moment, but others will follow.

So, updates for this story (because apparently this is a thing I'm doing now) will be sporadic at best. I'll shoot for once every two weeks or so, but let's make this clear. I'm a senior in high school, working 10-14 hours a week in a part time job at night, as well as being a lead writer for the school newspaper, and soon will be running a home-brewed D&D game as well.

I am a busy man. That being said, I am still gonna try to do this.

So, here's something for you to contemplate while you wait for the next chapter.

Question: What does 120 years and several hundred nukes do to RWBY canon?

THOUGHTS ON NEW VEGAS

New Vegas is fucking fantastic.

That's all.


	3. III - Accentuate The Positive

Chapter III - Accentuate the Positive

Blake Belladonna relaxed into her seat on the bullhead, the thrum of the aircraft comforting as she gazed out the window, her book away for fear of becoming airsick. The chatter of the various students heading to Beacon around her faded into background noise, as her ears focused in on the report currently playing on the TV.

The faunus supremacist terrorist organization known as the White Fang has struck again, this time attacking a train owned by the Schnee Dust Company, stealing the cargo and leaving nearly three dozen workers and civilians dead.

An image flashed on screen, one of a man with red hair, dressed in all black with a red undershirt, carrying a red katana, using it to strike out and cut through an Atlesian security drone. The ears of the cat faunus visibly pressed against her hair, Blake's face falling as she was forced to look upon the masked face of her former best friend.

This image has been recovered from the security cameras aboard the train. The man shown on screen is the main perpetrator of the incident. Should you encounter him, please stay away - he is considered armed and extremely dangerous. Instead, call the police immediately.

Reaching down, she clutched Gambol Shroud for reassurance, holding the weapon for stability. _It's ok,_ she told herself. _This is what you're here for. You're here to become strong…_

 _So that one day, you can convince him to come home._

* * *

Jaune Arc took deep breaths with his eyes closed, trying his damnedest to not throw up in the bullhead, because that would be a terrible first impression. Of course, it was just his luck, wasn't it, that the one wannabe Hunter in the family would be the one that had motion sickness? He sat on the bench, leaning on Crocea Mors, steadfastly ignoring how the vibrations of the bullhead shook up his insides in all the wrong ways. Never mind the fact that he had just barely gotten into Beacon, despite the massive amount of effort he had put into it, which was already sure to cause ridicule if previous experience was anything to go by, throwing up was surely gonna put a black mark on his record for the next four years.

He didn't wanna get called Vomit Boy or something equally as asinine after all.

That's why he breathed a sigh of relief as soon as the bullhead stopped, and immediately stood, walked calmly to the trash can just outside the exit placed oh so considerately, and proceeded to puke his guts out. Thankfully (or not so thankfully), he had experience with this sort of thing, considering his wonderful father's preferred method of training was to beat him up until he learned how to defend himself, and feeling like you were gonna hurl got in the way of keeping his sword up. So, he had learned how to throw up quickly, which was a surprisingly useful skill given his motion sickness.

The blonde rose up quickly, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, and turned to see two girls looking right at him - a blonde with long hair reaching down to her back, and a black haired girl with much shorter hair.

Jaune gave a weak grin. "Motion sickness. Bullheads and I don't exactly get along."

The two nodded in understanding.

"Are you sure you're alright?" the black haired girl asked, with a scrunched brow. "You looked, uh…"

"Like you were vomiting your guts out!" the blonde chimed in, far too cheerfully.

"Yang!" the second girl scolded, poking the other. "That's not nice, he looks really sick!"

Yang merely laughed off the other girl's concerns, irking Jaune slightly. He was no stranger to how he looked when he was sick, well aware he really did look like shit. The fact that Yang was just laughing off the black haired girl's observations did not give him a good impression of his fellow blonde. Determined to prove her wrong, if nothing else, he straightened up, and extended his hand to the two.

"Jaune Arc. Nice to meet you two."

"Oh! I'm Ruby!" The black haired girl replied hastily, reaching out to shake his hand.

As Jaune and Ruby shook hands, Yang raised her hand, introducing herself.

"Yang Xiao Long." A wicked look came over her face _(a look Jaune somehow knew he'd be seeing a lot more of)_ , and the tall girl looked at her wrist, conspicuously devoid of any watch, and affected surprise. "Oh, is it that time already! Well, Rubes, I promised to meet up with some friends from Signal so I gotta go have fun with your new friend 'bye!

She ran off so fast Jaune could swear her feet left dust clouds in her wake, leaving Ruby to extend a hand, vaguely grasping in the direction her friend had gone. He grimaced, reminded of the many times his sisters had done the same to him, the similarities only enhanced by the fact that Yang could have probably passed for a sibling of his. The younger girl was stuttering out incomprehensibly, a sound which eventually trailed into silence as Jaune watched. Sighing, he moved forward and tapped Ruby on the shoulder, which caused her to leap an impressive height in the air.

"Uh… Sorry you got abandoned by your friend," Jaune began.

"Sister," Ruby mumbled.

His eyebrows raised, but the young man didn't pry about the… obvious physical differences between the two. It was none of his business, and she probably wouldn't like him asking about it.

"Sister," he corrected. "Do… you wanna try to find where we need to go?" Jaune concluded tentatively.

Ruby looked at him in relief. "Yes, please… I don't wanna be the only one wandering about looking lost…"

A smile stayed on Jaune's face, despite a sudden jerk in his gut.

* * *

Weiss had barely gotten a dozen yards onto Beacon's campus when someone recognized her.

"E-excuse me?"

The question came from a tall cat faunus, with two distinctive ears sticking out of her long black hair. Her expression was tentative, almost hesitant, and the white-haired girl sighed internally.

"Yes?" she curtly asked, and wished the word would come back into her mouth the second it left. It was far too aggressive, too bratty. She needed to remember - nothing but politeness to everyone, uphold the Schnee family name. Two simple conditions given for her to be able attend Beacon. Two conditions that she would keep, no matter what.

The other girl almost quailed back at the sharpness in her voice, and Weiss was just on the verge of asking the faunus herself what she needed, before the black-haired girl rallied, and stepped forward, her face setting into a determined stance.

"Y-you're W-weiss Schnee, right?"

Weiss barely contained a sigh. So that's what this was about. Not her. Her name. Like always.

"Yes," the white-haired girl replied with patience. "I am."

A smile lit up the face of the other girl, one that Weiss couldn't help but be a little taken aback by. It was genuine happiness lighting up her face, something that was faintly disconcerting.

"I-it's nice to meet you! I'm Blake!"

Blake's face quickly composed itself, going to a serene smile, before she continued.

"I just - I wanted to thank you."

Weiss didn't even need to ponder for a moment to figure out what the cat faunus was talking about.

"Why?" questioned Weiss. "Those labor reforms were implemented nigh on a century ago. I had nothing to do with it."

"Even so," persisted the other. "Thank you."

Weiss groaned internally, but pasted a convincing but bewildered smile on her face.

"Then you're welcome, I suppose."

With a quick nod to the other girl, Weiss strode off confidently to the auditorium.

"W-wait!"

Stopping at Blake's cry behind her, the heiress spun artfully on one heel before planting her feet. Staring at the taller girl, Weiss saw a distinct expression of awkwardness and unease on her face.

"…Do you know where we're going?"

* * *

"I know that's where I put my damn gear!"

Pyrrha jumped slightly at the outburst from behind the girl currently talking to her, which was why she was unable to react at all when Weiss Schnee was run into by a blonde young man, knocking both the unknown trainee and the heiress on the floor.

"Hey!" cried Weiss, looking with frustration at the guy who had bowled her over. "Watch-"

Pyrrha did indeed watch in bemusement as the snow-haired girl shut her eyes, and took a deep breath, before opening them again, now noticeably calmer. The blonde seemed not to notice the shift in the person before him, and scrambled to his feet, before muttering something that could conceivably be an apology and walking off. Or at least, attempting to, as Weiss lashed out and latched onto his arm, arresting the movement of the young man.

"At least apologize to us!"

He turned around, blue eyes scanning over them both without a flash of recognition, and dipped his head.

"Sorry," he said, not sounding quite as sorry as the redhead suspected the heiress wanted him to be. "Apparently my gear is in another locker, so I was just trying to get to it before initiation."

Weiss's eyes narrowed slightly at the boy, who's eyes narrowed right back. Trying to defuse the situation, Pyrrha moved in, hands up in a peaceful gesture.

"Sorry about her, I suppose we're just a little on edge. It is the entrance exam for Beacon, after all."

The heiress seemed just about ready to push the issue, but right as she opened her mouth, the blonde sighed, and all tension went out of his shoulders. "Yeah, I suppose you're right. My bad, I'm a little stressed too." He offered a faint smile by way of apology, which Pyrrha reciprocated, grateful that this hadn't escalated.

"I'm Pyrrha Nikos," the redhead introduced herself, reaching out her hand to shake his, and wanted to kick herself as soon as that happened. She didn't want to be Pyrrha Nikos, Invincible Girl. All she wanted was to be another ordinary Beacon student, and she had already screwed it up. She let out a small sigh, expecting eyes to go wide in disbelief and face to contort in surprise - but the young man's face remained completely slack, the same small smile staying there even as he reached out to shake her hand.

"Jaune Arc. Nice to meet you, Pyrrha."

In that moment, Pyrrha's mind was whirling, unable to see the blank expression on Jaune's face. He - he didn't recognize her! She had even said her name, idiot she was, and he still had no idea who she was! This was perfect!

"Nice to meet you, Jaune!" she positively chirped. "Do you need help finding your gear?"

* * *

Ruby used the recoil from Crescent Rose's shots to slow her descent towards the ground, before sinking the blade of the scythe into the biggest tree she could see, the absurdly sharp blade of her weapon cutting deep into the wood, slowing her down just enough so that she could leap off, rolling on the ground of the Emerald Forest before coming up in a crouch.

 _That… was… so… COOL!_ she squealed internally, as she burst off running. In fact, all of this was just the coolest! She was with her cool big sis, at the coolest academy in the Four Kingdoms, and had just made a - pretty cool friend in Jaune, and was now getting the chance to show off her baby in front of Headmaster Ozpin! There was absolutely no way that she was gonna not get the chance to kill a bunch of Grimm and make a fantastic first impression! Or second.

Spotting some Beowulves up ahead, Ruby grinned, and performed what could only be described as a drive-by decapitation, using Crescent Rose to behead one of the Grimm before drifting to a stop behind them and slamming the blade of her weapon into the ground, firing a few .50 caliber shots, punching holes in the chests of a couple more. As the other Grimm became aware of her presence, they spun, claws digging into the leaf covered floor of the forest, before the Beowulves hurled themselves at the black-clad girl. Yanking the blade out of the ground, Ruby fired a shot at one of the beasts, before using the recoil to spin around, cutting down another.

The momentum leaving her briefly off balance, the last Beowulf leapt at her chest, causing the young trainee to cry out in alarm, before the Grimm was frozen barely an inch away from her flesh in a block of ice. Not even wondering where the ice had come from, Ruby brought across Crescent Rose, slashing the Beowulf, sending the corpse of the Grimm sprawling on the ground, before the thing disappeared.

Panting, Ruby looked up, and saw who had come in to help her - a young woman dressed in white, with snow-like hair, and a rapier filled with cartridges of Dust that made Ruby's weapon senses tingle.

"Hi!" she cried jauntily at the newcomer! "I'm Ruby! Are we partners?"

Though there was no reaction from the other at first, the white garbed girl returned the smile soon after.

"Yes. I'm Weiss. Let's get along, ok?"

* * *

Bouncing through the trees, Yang had an easy smile on her face, discharging Ember Cecilia at regular intervals to boost her leaps through the trees. Right now, the blonde had two goals - find her sister, and kill whatever Grimm got in her way! Oh, she knew that Ruby could handle herself - her little sister was a combat prodigy, after all - but she still wanted to make sure that the younger girl was alright. That was her privilege as big sister, after all.

As she traveled, she eventually caught a glimpse of some combat through the trees. Eyebrows drawn in concern, Yang headed towards the fight in leaps and bounds, eventually catching a glimpse of a girl in black facing off against Ursai. Her heart nearly stopped.

 _Ruby?_

She practically hurled herself forward, towards the Ursai. Right before impact, she managed to catch a glimpse of the other girl - who wasn't Ruby, an observation made fairly obvious by the cat ears on top of her head. Ramming into one of the Ursa at full speed, she fired Ember Cecilia at the moment her fist impacted with the Grimm's hide, the shotgun shell ripping through the tough skin, sending the beast staggering a few feet, before it came right back at the blonde, swinging its paws with reckless abandon. Quickly firing off another blast at the charging Ursa, Yang used the recoil to fling herself back, striking out at another one of the Grimm, knocking that one to the side. With two of the Ursai off balance, Yang attempted to capitalize on her opening, leaping at the one in the middle, trusting the other trainee to keep her covered.

Keep her covered the other did, as no claws raked into her exposed back as she unleashed a flurry of blows onto the beast in front of her. Gunfire and growls sounded from behind her, but Yang was too focused on her own fight to glance back at the other. Lashing out with a back knuckle, catching the Ursa just slightly off-guard, the trainee slammed one fist into the eye of the Grimm and the other into the chest, and discharged both parts of Ember Cecilia at the same time, blasting a good sized hole through the two body parts. Using the recoil to jump backwards, the brawler twisted in midair to view the fight of the other girl, who had beheaded one of the Ursa, the corpse of which was dissolving as she watched, and was spraying the other with sub-machine gun fire.

"From above!" Yang cried, and the faunus got the message, shifting the form of her weapon to a katana as the blonde came down like a meteor on top of the Grimm, crushing its skull in a forceful impact. Rolling forward, Yang popped up right in front off the other trainee, who let out a very undignified squeak of surprise.

"Well," remarked Yang, surprisingly cheerful for the fight that they had just been in. "I suppose we're partners now, huh? I'm Yang Xiao Long!"

A careful, shy smile came over the other girl's face.

"B-Blake Belladonna. It's… nice to meet you, Yang."

* * *

"Ah, yes. Team RWBY?"

The newly christened team turned as one, question marks visibly apparent on all their faces at the remark of Ozpin. The silver-haired headmaster held his hand up, a slight look of amusement on his face.

"No, you're not in trouble," Ozpin said, smiling. "Come with me. I have something to ask of you."

* * *

A/N: Yes, a shorter chapter. However, given that the only changes are personality, I doubt that everyone wants to read another fucking Death Stalker and Nevermore fight, only without Ruby and Weiss bickering, and I certainly don't want to write one. Why did this thing take me two weeks to write? Because I'm really nervous about this one. Unlike the past two chapters, which has mostly been Six's internal monologue and VRDT, these are actual canon characters (for the most part, Weiss, Blake, and Jaune have been overhauled a bit due to world changes [Weiss and Blake] and my own pet peeves [Jaune]) that I can fuck up.

Anyways, leave some constructive criticism. How to not horribly butcher these characters, that sort of thing. See ya in another two weeks, if my AP Stat teacher doesn't bore me to death by then.


	4. IV - Civilization

Chapter IV - Civilization

"Alright," began Six, "Let's get this straight."

Cass and Raul glanced up at the younger man, the fox faunus scarfing down a gecko steak while the ghoul was just spooning some Pork n' Beans into his mouth. Six himself had finished his own Mac & Cheese a few moments before, and was now washing the tin bowl he ate from with water, before drinking the dirtied water, unwilling to waste even a single drop.

"So," he continued, "Ozpin and the others now know me as Odysseus, the right hand man of Courier Six, President of the IMC. It's probably not a good idea to go reveal I actually am Six. I trust Ozpin to keep the Council of Vale from doin' something stupid, but I got no idea 'bout the others. That means we gotta get the story about who Odysseus is straight."

Raul groaned, and flopped back into the sand, the old ghoul letting out a long groan.  
" _Dios, jefe_ , I can't even keep track of how many backup plans you have."

"At least you're not Yes Man," the courier retorted, with the ghost of a smile on his lips. "But in any case, from tonight on, you probably should start callin' me Odysseus."

Cass tossed off a sloppy salute as she wiped her hands in the sand surrounding their bedrolls.  
"Got it, Odysseus." Her face screwed up briefly, and she sighed. "Oh, I'm gonna miss callin' you Six. It's just… so much shorter and sweeter."

Six privately agreed. However, it was a bit too late to change anything on that front, so all he could do was grin and bear it.

"Well," started Six, talking more at his companions than with them, "I'm thinking just a fairly generic background for now. Makin' me too unique of a person might invite questions that I don't really wanna answer. 'Course, that means that I probably shouldn't use my more… technical weaponry, at least while I'm pretendin' to be Odysseus. A bit hard to explain how I could get my hands on the Tesla-Beaton. Also, I have no idea how much technology has progressed since the Great War. I found the damn thing in an Enclave vertibird that was wrecked as all hell, so who knows how advanced this thing is compared to other shit."

Cass and Raul both shuddered, having seen the raw destructive power of the thing a few times, the energy cannon having been used to great effect while storming Black Mountain, as well as during the defense of Rorke's Ravine. The Tesla-Beaton Prototype was easily the most destructive weapon Six used on a regular basis, the energy cannon easily having the power to blast concrete into chunks.

"Yeah, that probably would be best," conceded Cass. "You still haven't actually told us who Odysseus is, by the way."

Six grunted, acknowledging the point, before leaning forward, staring into the fire intently.

"I was thinkin' it would probably be fine if I was just a caravan guard from the NCR. Got ambushed by some legionnaires on my way to New Vegas, which is where the scar comes from," the courier gestured at the spiderweb across his face before continuing on. "Got found near Novac and started workin' as a bounty hunter. Wound up with Courier Six when he was helpin' the town take care of all the ghouls at REPCONN, and have been with him ever since. Gives y'all an excuse in case you slip up and say that I was doing somethin' that Six would have been. Also helps out with why I have so much weaponry - I was with Courier Six."

Thinking about it for a moment, Cass and Raul gave a nod to the younger man.

"Got it," responded Raul, reaching to grab his bedroll. "Now, if you don't mind, _jefe_ , I'm gonna get ready to trek into the nuclear hellscape you're dragging me into."

Six grinned, and pulled out his own bedroll, tossing it casually on the sand. "Hey, at least you ain't one of the Vale people. They had to stay there for this entire time." Waving his hand, he forestalled the look of concern Cass was developing on her face. "I didn't leave 'em in the fuckin' Divide without protection. Gimme some credit. I stuffed them in one of the old nuclear silos with express command to not fucking touch anything."

Six's tone shifted from cheerfully casual and playful to deadly serious and forceful in a moment, a change that many who didn't know the courier would label as bizarre and jarring. However, for the two who had been with him the longest, the change was nothing new. The juxtaposition of kindness and vehemence was one of the most powerful tools in the diplomatic arsenal. The jarring change was quite useful, catching the other party in the negotiations off guard, and making them more likely to agree with whatever he said. After all, pissing off Courier Six was an absolutely terrible idea.

The young man sat down heavily on the bedroll, and stretched casually, adopting a sitting position. With a few taps on the Pimp-boy, performed expertly in the span of less than a heartbeat, The Ferguson Rifle appeared in his hands with a flash of light. Six quickly checked the Winchester Model 1892 to see whether or not the lever action rifle still had .44 rounds chambered, spending several moments fiddling with the gun to make sure the thing was in good condition. Satisfied that the rifle was ready for use at any moment, he placed it across his lap, and nodded at Cass and Raul.

"I'll go ahead and take first watch. Y'all go ahead and rest."

Like that, the discussion was over, and Six moved a bit closer to the fire, pulling up a concrete block that he had moved over earlier in the evening. He sighed, satisfied, as he threw a blanket over the hard material and took a seat, leaning against the cloth. It was at times that this that he truly was grateful for the cybernetics he had received from both Usanagi and the Think Tank, though he hadn't exactly asked for the latter. Six wasn't sure how much of his body was cybernetic by now. His heart, brain, and spine all still had machinery in them from the experimentation that had been done on them, and while the enhancements were useful, combined with those he had bought from Usanagi _(which were as many as his body could handle, all purchased with caps he had obtained from selling gold from the Sierra Madre - after that hell, he wanted every advantage possible)_ , he didn't know if he could technically be called a a cyborg yet.

A cyborg. Part human, part machine. That word scared him, a little. Six didn't want to give up his humanity, didn't want to lose something that defined him.

Such were the thoughts of Courier Six, late at night in the Mojave, as his cybernetically enhanced eyes scanned the desert for raiders - Vipers, Jackals or Fiends - and creatures - Radscorpions, Fire Ants, or Deathclaws - so he could kill them before they could approach the place where his companions were sleeping. A part of him almost perversely hoped that something would come - after all, if he engaged in combat, it might wear him enough to push him over the edge of tiredness to exhaustion.

That might be enough to get him to sleep tonight.

* * *

Six was uncomfortable. Quite frankly, he didn't really see a reason why he shouldn't be - he was taking the words of many people for granted here, trusting them based on nothing but his instincts and blind faith. He had no concrete evidence that anything team VRDT, Ozpin, and the Council of Vale said was true. Just like at the Sierra Madre - just like at the Big MT - just like at the Divide - just like at Frosthills _(his hands twitched, and the blood-soaked snow appears before his eyes again)_ , he was taking someone at their word.

The last few times he had done that, he had ended up in a desperate struggle for his life against enemies that held drastic advantages over him. Elijah and the Ghosts of the Sierra Madre, the Robo-scorpions of the Big MT, the Marked Men and Irradiated Deathclaws of the Divide, and Marko-

Six made an effort to cut off that line of thinking before it could any further, his horrifically scarred hands clenching, what little flesh that wasn't scarred turning white, mapping out the lines of his injuries across the skin of his hands. Taking a deep breath, he leaned back into the seat of the - bullhead, the vehicle had been called. It seemed to be an improvement on the vertibird - it certainly was, in Six's opinion. The thing was much quieter, which allowed him to listen to music easier. Violins began to create a tremulous noise, a piano rang, a cello played a bass line, and Frank Sinatra began to sing smoothly, asking his lover to fly with him. Closing his eyes, he began to relax into the hard seat, his right foot, boot-clad, beginning to tap gently as the music swelled into his ears, drowning out everything, until all that was left was the feeling of the air against his bare arms, and the sounds in his ears.

From across the aircraft, Davis looked with a slight frown on his face at the totally relaxed Odysseus, who seemed to be remarkably relaxed for being in a strange vehicle with a strange group of people. Leaning over to Cass, he tapped her briefly on the shoulder, and then pointed at the younger man.

"Is he always like this?"

Cass glanced over at the subject of his attention, before turning to the hunter trainee with a look of confusion on her face. "Like what?"

Davis sighed, and rubbed the back of his head distractedly, pale blonde hair flopping haphazardly. "So… at ease. I mean, I'd be scared outta my mind, going with a bunch of people I didn't know like this. Not to mention…" He paused, looking uncomfortable, before sighing and letting it spill. "We have pretty much all the advantages right now. In information, weaponry, ammunition - I just find it hard to believe that he's not worried about it."

The fox faunus sat for a bit, thinking it over, before shrugging.

"Well, the thing is, there ain't really a damned thing we can do about it, right? Far as we're concerned, the world ended 205 years ago. Ever since then, the ruins of America have been trying to carve some semblance of order out of the wastes. In between attacks from the Grimm and the other creatures that the fallout made, not to mention other people, no entity has really had the opportunity to try to reach out. Besides, everyone basically figured that the rest of the world was in the same state we were, if not worse, so what was the point?"

Cass sighed, and slumped back into the seat on the side of the bullhead, looking with an unidentifiable expression at Odysseus, who almost looked asleep, short sliver hair in wild tangles.

"Odysseus knows that you have the advantage. But he can't do anything about that, so he's accepted that fact for now. And since he's accepted it, why bother worrying about it?"

Davis nodded, accepting the explanation, and turned his attention away from the wastelander. After all, Venus would need a break from piloting the bullhead sometime soon.

* * *

Six had never seen so much green in his life. Vault 22 was one thing, the greenery being solely confined to the insides of the confining metal labyrinth and the surrounding several dozen yards of Mojave. The same went for the X-22 Botanical Garden from the Big MT, the source of the vegetation in Vault 22. This - this was beyond comprehension, a veritable carpet of green reaching as far as his _(cybernetically enhanced)_ eyes could see.

He, Raul, and Cass were all staring at the forest, unable to tear their eyes away from a sight he and the faunus had never been able to conceive of, a sight that the ghoul standing beside him hadn't seen in over two centuries. Six stole a glance out of the corner of his eye at the ghoul next to him, who had been decked out in a modified version of some IMC armor that had a head wrap around everything but his eyes, which were covered by sunglasses. The three had agreed that trying to explain what a ghoul actually was was a tall order, and would more than likely result in Raul taken away for experimentation, instead deciding to just present Raul as having an illness. While it may have been a rather cynical view, Six had insisted on it, having personally met some scientists from the Old World. Admittedly, the chance of that scenario taking place was small, as the Think Tank may have gone… pretty much insane from their 200 year stay in the Big MT, but he still remembered that sensation of waking up, and realizing three of his most important organs were gone. While he had reclaimed them all, he had never exactly forgiven his new employees for that violation - as well as all the other experimentation they had been responsible for. The sight of those children spore carriers still haunted his vision, as did the sickening crack their heads made as they were blasted open with 20 gauge shotgun shells from his Remington 310 Spartan.

Breaking himself out of the memories _(scarred hands flexing unconsciously, desperately seeking for a gun)_ , the courier poked an elbow into the old ghoul's side. The jarring motion caused Raul to jolt from a reverie of his own, giving a half-hearted glare to the scarred wastelander.

"What do you want, _jefe_?"

Six grinned faintly, and looked back at the forest below them.

"Ever seen something like this before, Raul?" Giving a quick scan around the bullhead and noting that the entirety of team VRDT was over in the cockpit, gathered around the scroll of Redding, he turned back to his militia commander, and lowered his voice. "Y'know, before the war?"

A smile crossed the green and patchy face of the ghoul, though Six was unable to see it.

" _Si, jefe._ I took Rafaela to the forests in the North-West Commonwealth frequently before the war. She loved to see the enormous trees. Thankfully, that Commonwealth hadn't succumbed to the more industrial urges of the Plains Commonwealth and chopped them all down."

Six hummed in acknowledgement and turned once more to the forest below them. He glanced quickly to Cass, who seemed to be enamored completely by the sight, blue eyes under a rattan hat fixed firmly on the ocean of green. Grinning at the child-like wonder on the face of the fox faunus, he pushed himself away from the glass with a great groan, and began to make his way across the bullhead to team VRDT. Combat boots purposefully pounded on the metal floor, making enough noise to warn the group he was coming, a warning they took, as the conversation between the hunters in training died out as the silver-haired young man approached. With the same faint grin, Six lifted his hand and waved.

"Hey. Got an idea about our ETA at Beacon?"

Glances were briefly exchanged _(Six being honestly impressed at the ability of the four to communicate without speaking)_ , and Davis spoke up. "Yeah. We should be about an hour out from the academy, tops." After the briefest of pauses, the older man began again. "How are you three holding up? I know we only saw the Divide, but if the rest of the world is anything like that… You probably haven't seen something like that before."

A bitter expression flashed on Six's face for just an instant, before it was quickly wiped away and replaced with the smile he almost always kept there _(a change that slightly unnerved the other four he was speaking to)_.

"Yeah… I sure haven't."

Without speaking anymore, the wastelander turned around, wandering back over to the benches. Reaching over to his Pimp-Boy, he pressed a button, turned a dial, tapped the screen, and the sound of the bullhead was drowned out by a song he didn't even have the heart to pay attention to. He shut his eyes again, leaning his head back against the wall, breathing deeply while stroking the spider-web scar across his face, trying to get rid of the sick feeling in his stomach whenever he was reminded of the vast gulf in his memories.

Six's earliest memory was waking up with a headache in a grave, with hands bound and Jessup trying to convince Benny to just kill him and get it over with. After that, there was nothing but pain in the right side of his head, and waking up in Doc Mitchell's house in Goodsprings. And after that? He had helped Sunny with the geckos, saved one of the citizens, gone to see Trudy, seen Joe Cobb - then killed all the Powder Gangers after Ringo, and hadn't stopped since _(his hands flexing once more, scars standing out against them like a map of New Vegas)_. The courier remembered nothing before that - where he was from, where his family might be, if they were relying on him for money. The Mojave Express didn't have his name on the list - apparently, that was the first job he had done for them, and his only listing was as Courier Six. Not even Ulysses had known his name, though he had known about Six supplying the Divide for a couple of years. The last of the Twisted Hairs had figured that he was just a dumb kid taking on a dangerous job no one else would for money. There was no link between Courier Six and whoever he had been before Goodsprings but half remembered fragments of blurry faces and vague impressions.

It didn't sit well with him, to say the least.

* * *

The estimate of Davis was surprisingly accurate, Six catching sight of Beacon about an hour from the hunter in training's pronouncement. The sight of the academy wasn't quite as astonishing as the Emerald Forest below them. He lived on the Strip, after all, and was the owner of the Lucky 38, the soon to be reopened tower of lights that symbolized New Vegas like nothing else, not even the Tops, the Ultra-Luxe, or Gomorrah. Cass had run caravans through the city and Freeside for several years, and Raul had had a month or so to get used to the ostentatiousness of Sin City. Even with all that being said, Beacon Academy was still wonderful, catching the attention. Gray spires reached to the sky, the school looking like nothing so much as a castle. A green field sprawled out alongside the school, flowers growing in beds of vibrant color. Yet for all the majesty of the premier hunter academy of Remnant, Six was focused on something else entirely.

The city.

His eyes, pale blue, were focused inordinately on the city of Vale, shining brightly, the sun reflecting of metal that was bright and polished, not rusty and dented. Concrete was not pitted and cracked, but smooth and unblemished. The city was easily bigger than New Vegas, even if one included the districts of Freeside and Westside. Hell, the two might only match in size if he went by Old World maps, including the areas north and east of the city, in addition to the Fiend territory to the west and south.

Suddenly, it hit him, and Six stumbled, holding his hand out, balancing himself on the wall, desperately trying to control his breathing. This was real. The Old World still existed - he was staring right at it. The world hadn't ended 205 years ago, in 2077, when missiles came rocketing down from the sky and nuclear fire billowed across the landscape of America. Only America had.

Though Cass and Raul gave him concerned looks, it was obvious that the revelation hadn't hit them as hard as it did him. That made a certain amount of sense - after all, he was the leader of the IMC, a major power now that it had control over Hoover Dam and its power. While he hadn't asked for the position, in the end, it made the most sense for him to have it. And with that position of power, came a great deal of responsibility. He was responsible now for them - from Jacobstown to Nipton, from Goodsprings to Hoover Dam, all citizens living in the Mojave were his responsibility. Six had accepted that when he had emptied Maria into Mr. House, ending the centuries long life of the billionaire.

Water. Food. Shelter. Safety. Power. He needed to provide all of these for his people. Power came from Hoover Dam and Helios, both now under his control and bringing electricity to Freeside, Westside, and the Strip. Safety was another thing he could help with - the range of the Securitrons had extended to protect the neighborhoods outside of the Strip as well, and he had formed a militia, comprised of volunteers, who were outfitted in armor marked with the seal of the IMC, led by Raul. Shelter was harder, but the many destroyed buildings in Vegas could be repaired with materials taken from hideouts that Fiends used. As far as food and water went, Heck Gunderson had struck a deal with the IMC soon after the formation of the nation, so brahmin came in on a regular basis, and water was also shipped in from both the Colorado River and the NCR. As long as citizens had the caps to buy the food and water, they wouldn't starve.

The people of the Mojave would survive. It would be a tough life, to be sure - after all, he had lived it, until he had killed House - but they would survive. Barring an attack by Fiends. Barring an attack by Grimm. Barring a raid on the Gunderson brahmin caravan. There were hundreds of ways to die in the Mojave, caused by any number of things. Yet here - all those ways were negated. The walls of Vale were tall, made of burnished metal, as opposed to the walls of crumbling concrete and corrugated metal of New Vegas. Those walls could keep out Grimm for certain, and Fiends most definitely. The kingdom of Vale hadn't been bombarded by nuclear blasts, so the water, food, and soil wasn't irradiated, with uncorrupted food and water at a premium. The entire economy hadn't had to rebuild itself from scratch using bottle caps instead of paper money. The remnants of the population hadn't been put in Vaults to be experimented on, and now had to deal with the constant threat of not only Grimm, but the mutated creatures of the wasteland, and raiders like the Fiends.

Vale wasn't broken, not like America.

Six wrestled himself under control as the bullhead began to descend from the sky to the landing pad at Beacon. He shakily drew in a breath, and rubbed his hand over the spiderweb of his scar. Nodding reassuringly at Cass and Raul, he walked confidently over to team VRDT. They nodded at him as he approached, Davis, who seemed to be the de-facto liaison between the team and the wastelanders speaking up.

"Ozpin should be at the landing pad, waiting for us. You just about ready?"

Six offered the weak smile again (though it did not reach his eyes, a trend that all the hunters in training had noticed). "We've been sitting in this damn thing for the longest time. I'm about to go insane if I stay in here any longer."

"Sounds perfect," Davis replied, reaching out to the control panel, hands flicking a series of switches and buttons, causing the door of the bullhead to open, a ramp lowering, light shining through the crack, a beam that grew as the opening widened. As the ramp thudded into the ground, sending some dust whirling up into the air, Davis and Venus hopped out of the vehicle first, heading over to a woman with blonde hair pulled up in a fancy bun of some sort. Six turned to Redding, who jerked his head towards the exit with a raised eyebrow. A shared glance between the two communicated everything they needed to know, and with a deep breath, Six stepped out of the bullhead into a world he had thought long dead.

* * *

A/N: Originally, this chapter was also gonna cover Six watching initiation and his reaction to things like Aura, Semblances, and the absurd weapons. Then I realized that would take a while, and also realized that I hadn't updated in over three weeks. Sorry about that.

I blame many things, foremost among them Joe Rogan. I was listening to the Drunken Peasants on the way home from school when I was reminded that TJ had been on the Joe Rogan podcast. And so of course, while scrolling through the list of episodes, I of course had to download and listen to Rogan talking with Sargon, Jordan B. Peterson, Bret Weinstein, Peterson and Weinstein. And since I can't listen and write, I had to listen and play games, and so I started a playthrough of Borderlands 2 as a Siren.

…I have no one but myself to blame. The next chapter might also take some time, as I need to write something to submit to a scholarship. See you then. As always, leave comments, concerns, criticisms, and testimony in the reviews.

P.S. - I got my first please update review. Does that mean I get a prize of some sort?


End file.
